


tell my story

by glockenspielium



Series: you and i (do or die) [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/F, Lots of drama, M/M, On Haitus, Violence, also le swearing in le french, detective hamilton, do i need to tag for swearing? because yeah that, doctor laurens, literally no one is het, lots of nice uniforms and scrubs for everyone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-07-29 01:15:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7664656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glockenspielium/pseuds/glockenspielium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamilton may just be the best detective the precinct has seen in years, even if he never knows when to stop.</p><p>(Updates on Wednesdays)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. while we were all watching

**Author's Note:**

> Too little sleep, too much fondness for terrible AU tropes and a perfect amount of Hamilton infatuation. Let's see how this goes..

Lafayette takes a small sip of his coffee, ankles crossed and propped up onto his desk, one hand delicately grasping a small pastry, the other wrapped firmly around his travel mug. After three years in this country, he may have deigned to lower his standards enough to walk onto the Starbucks premises with Alexander on their way to the office each morning, but he is not foolish enough to mistake the watery muck they serve for passable coffee. It was a risky move; stealing the flasks and holder from Manning’s lab in the quiet, early hours of the morning. However, as he took a second, longer sip of the delicious cold drip brew, he reasoned that it was worth every inch of the trouble.

“What’s got you looking like a dog with two dicks so early in the morning?” 

Placing his mug down, Lafayette swivels slightly in his chair around to see Peggy throwing her backpack onto her desk beside his and slumping down into her chair. The last few sips of her caffeinated beverage of choice (a large red bull) disappear between her lips, before the can is crushed and skilfully flung into the bin at the end of Burr’s desk. The junior detective looks up briefly at the tinkering sound it made as it lands, furrows his brow at the two of them, and returns immediately to tapping furiously at his keyboard. Peggy snorts and redirects her gaze to the detective at the desk beside her, head cocked in query. Lafayette blinks twice.

“Ah... dog with two dicks?” Now it’s his turn to smirk. “Peggy, _ma chérie_ , I had no idea you kept notes of my weekend activities! If it is truly more dicks you are wanting, I’m more than happy to lend you the purple one, if you are pleased to wait until I have cleaned it well?”

It’s a testament to how long she’s been listening to his crap that this only evokes another eye roll from her.

“You look happy, Laf. It’s 8am.” She shudders. “What gives you a right to look so damn happy at this hour?”

His lips curl into a wider smile, teeth flashing white beneath his bowed lips.

“ _Évidemment_ , you did not see the news last night.”

She shakes her head, pulling back her long curls into the tight restraints of a low ponytail.

“I make a point of avoiding the headlines, at least when I’m off duty, you know that. Last night was all about pop tarts and my Buffy DVD box set. Angelica would have let me know if something important happened.”

Lafayette is yet to meet this legendary sister of Peggy’s, but from what he’s heard, she is as furious a force to be reckoned with as her sister is, if not more treacherous by virtue of her fierce protectiveness. Peggy may complain about it from time to time, but it’s clear to him that she relishes the vigilance of her oldest sister’s care.

“Ah, _oui_ , it is not broken news-“

“Breaking news.”

“- _voilà, ce que je dis;_ but even so, it was worth watching.”

He waves her over, sliding his feet back down to the floor and placing his pastry onto a stack of old notes, brushing the crumbs away before opening up youtube on his computer. She perches on the arm of his chair, her eyebrows arching up in increasingly amused increments with every word he types.

“ _Alexander Hamilton vs Samuel Seabury vs car windshield_?” She gawks down at Lafayette. “You’re kidding me.”

He responds by clicking on the first video and turning up the volume, despite Burr’s pointed, exasperated sigh at the commotion they’re creating.

Lafayette knows by now that the footage is even better than the title suggests, and it doesn’t lose hilarity with repeated viewing. A few others meander over to his desk once they hear the opening commotion. It’s recorded on a phone camera, crappy image quality and the noise of the whipping wind almost entirely drowning out the monotonous preaching of the bishop, standing by the doors of the criminal court. It’s the last day of one of their biggest cases of the year, the rape of an underage student by her sports coach. More than half of the free officers had gone down to the court to show their support – the press coverage had been unrelenting. And, in his capacity as the arresting officer, Alexander Hamilton had made an unforgettable appearance.

The doors to the court open and the young girl and her family are bundled out past the press and onlookers, and just after the pass by the camera’s view, Seabury’s face is back in frame, and the second half of his sentence is picked up more clearly.

“- as it is written in Deuteronomy 23- ‘you shall bring them both out of the gate of the city and there stone them to death: the girl because she did not cry out for help though she was in the city’-“

And then there’s a blur of a forest green coat and black hair on the screen and Hamilton’s fist is colliding solidly with Seabury’s long, crooked nose with a satisfying _crunch_. Peggy lets out a celebratory whoop, fist punching into the air. Lafayette chuckles deeply, patting her thigh affectionately.

“ _Et puis,_ that is not even the best part, watch-”

Lafayette selects the full screen option, for maximal enjoyment. He’s personally seen this seven times already, including the instance of him being down at the court house personally, just to the left of Hamilton, occasionally falling into frame, a hearty smile on his face, clapping his encouragement and amusement.

“What the ever-loving fuck do you think you’re doing here?” Alexander’s pulled Seabury back to his feet, gripping his collar in both hands. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are wild, and the phone mercifully picks up almost every word as he spits it into Seabury’s face.

“No, don’t tell me, you actually think that the wrinkly old biscuits who wrote that shit hoped it could serve a purpose greater than an inadequately wank blanket to mop up the pathetic puddles of-“

The rest of his phrase is cut short as Seabury coughs and splutters a spray of blood onto Alexander’s face. To his credit, the smaller man doesn’t loosen his hold, red streaks dribbling down his face onto the collar of his shirt as he glares daggers at the other man. But then Seabury makes the disasterous choice of clearing his throat and speaking up again.

“There are ways in which we are taught to treat these unclean ladies and their bastards-“

Lafayette has known Alexander since the day he set foot in this hilarious country, but the years spent as housemates and colleagues could never have truly prepared him for the experience of watching his wiry little friend lifting a grown man into the air by his collar and, before any of the bemused bystanders had the sense of mind to try to step in and stop him, launching him bodily through the air and into the windshield of the car parked beside the road.

Peggy laughs so hard she falls off the arm of the chair.

“I thought the title was an exaggeration! Holy shit!”

Accepting the arm Lafayette offers to haul her back up, they watch together as Alexander, who is also on the floor now, is bundled up by security, his fists flying and his mouth running, as Seabury attempts to disentangle himself from the mess of glass shards he’s landed in and –

“ _Non_ , I was wrong, this is the very best part!”

There’s a muffled scream, and the camera whips around to capture Mr Thomas Jefferson, the esteemed barrister, purple velvet coat slipping from his shoulders as he stumbles down the stairs, arm outstretched with a pathetic tremble.

“My car! That’s my fucking car; what has he done to my car!”

The video ends on Jefferson’s face, contorted in a grimace of rage and sorrow.

Peggy cackles madly, “Oh, Hamilton is so gone!” She wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand, “Jefferson was itching for a reason to nail him already."

Lafayette’s fingers hover mischievously over the computer mouse, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“I think you may have missed some of the finer filmography, shall we watch it again?”

They don’t get the chance to replay the beautiful arc of Seabury’s body flying through the air, however, as the door to Washington’s office snaps open, the owner of said car storming out of the room, yelling back over his shoulder to the remaining inhabitants of the room.

“Don’t think this is the end of it, Hamilton!” Jefferson is still sporting his ridiculous jacket, shiny black boots striding down between the desks, his hair bouncing half a second behind each tread. “I don’t care if you find the funding for an entire fleet of replacement cars, this time you’re going down.”

Hamilton’s unmistakable voice comes floating pertly out of the office after him.

“Not all of us got here riding on the back of Daddy’s inheritance, but give me time and I’ll get you a hundred Porsches – but I feel I should warn you that it still won’t get you laid, not until you find a way to remove that gigantic flagpole you’ve shoved right up- “

“Hamilton!”

Washington’s deep rumble reverberates across the floor with feeling. Thomas Jefferson reaches the elevators, angrily stabbing the buttons, muttering under his breath. He may be a pretentious prick, but Lafayette knows that Jefferson is inherently a good man, who does his best to advocate for those without a voice, even if he is a little arrogant in person. Another time, he might have attempted to talk to him, but today Lafayette doesn’t stay to watch him leave. Instead he jumps to his feet, as his coworkers disperse back to their own desks, and swoops down to press a kiss to Peggy’s cheek. He hands her his pastry, catching the beginnings her warm, amused smile, before stalking down to Washington’s office in long, quick paces to attempt to save his partner’s career, against his better judgement. Lafayette may be a good friend, but if Alexander can get himself into these predicaments at least twice a week, he should be more than capable to get himself out of them, too.

Which, of course, he is already working on. He’s loudly arguing his stance as Lafayette reaches the threshold of the office, citing the First Amendment and Rent lyrics in the same sentence, but for once, Washington’s having none of it.

“We can’t keep having this conversation, Alexander. You know better than this.”

Alexander, for his part, sporting his usual patterned tie and collared shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbow, with those jeans that Lafayette had declared expired at least four months ago, at least has the decency to look embarrassed.

“I know I let my temper get the better of me sir, but if you’d only heard the shit- the _stuff_ he was saying- “

“I did hear; I was there!” Washington stands, crossing his arms. “As was every leading media outlet in the state. They managed to capture everything from the exact passage he was citing to the rather colourful choice of expletives you directed at Jefferson as he attempted to pull you back out of the security van. You’re the one who is meant to be making the arrests, damn it!”

He’s glaring down at Hamilton, eyes flashing, but this only prompts the young detective to rise to his feet, ineffectively attempting to even their positions – he stands at least a head and a half shorter than his commander. But his voice is earnest and his hands gesticulate pleadingly.

“But, sir! I did make the arrest, that’s the whole point – why even arrest these bastards if people out there are are still going to get in front of a camera and _somehow_ find a way to make out like it’s Sophie’s fault that her lecherous cockroach of a football coach is an abusive asswipe.” He pauses, mouth twisting, possibly reconsidering his choice of words while addressing his boss.

Washington is suitably unimpressed. 

“Maybe because that _is_ your job, Detective Hamilton?” Last name – not good. Lafayette decides it’s time to speak up.

“Sir, if I may?” Washington’s head snaps in his direction and his eyes warm slightly. He’s always had a soft spot for both boys, and this week Lafayette has been the direct cause of one less public scandal, so he might well be the current favourite.

“Yes?”

“Even though it is not our job,” He gives Alexander a pointed look, “ _Mon petit lion_ has successfully redirected the majority of media attention away from _pauvre_ Sophie and her family.” He shrugs, “It may not have been a predictable outcome of his actions, but I think it is very good, _quand même_.”

Washington thinks this over, arms still firmly crossed in front of his chest. Alexander shoots Lafayette a small smile, which is returned with an amorous roll of his eyes.

“I see what you’re saying Detective Lafayette, even if it was not Hamilton’s intention, I would be glad to give that family any moment of peace they can catch. But this time he really has gone too far.”

Alexander attempts to stand a little taller. “Yep, still here in the room with you?”

Lafayette ignores him, “This is his way; _enfin_ this is what makes him the best detective you have.”

So, that may not be entirely honest. In his immodest opinion, Alexander doesn’t quite have the finesse and grace with which Lafayette administers his interrogations, but it’s close enough to the truth. Their team, with Peggy, has consistently brought in almost double the number of successful cases than any other squad. Alexander shoots him a grateful grin as he continues.

“He is relentless, he is passionate. He is also, how you say, untameable?” Lafayette shrugs again, his hands out turned in front of him. “I would argue that, even if we try to contain them, lions are not intended to be tamed.”

But their commander is shaking his head.

“It’s no good. Not that I wouldn’t entirely agree with your motivations, _privately_ ,” He glares at Alexander, before he can pipe up in response, “But the coverage of this is too extensive, too damaging to our public relations. I’m sorry.”

Alexander gulps, audibly, and Lafayette notes the quickening of his own pulse. The situation is a mess, but surely this isn’t the end of his partner’s career. It can’t be.

“Please don’t fire me.” Alexander’s voice is shockingly small and quiet, so unlike his usual fiery self. He must be truly terrified.

At this, Washington finally cracks a smile, his eyebrows quirking jovially.

“Fire you?” He laughs, “I’m not stupid, Alexander. You’re far too talented a detective to be wasted on academia, or whatever it was you told me you were doing when I pulled you out of that dumpster. But for now, I’m taking you off all major active cases. In fact,” he rifles through the stack of papers on the desk in front of him, plucking out the one he was searching for and leaning over to lay it out onto the dark wood in front of Alexander, “I have just the thing for you. This is your new mission, until I tell you otherwise every minute you spend within these walls will be focused on that and nothing else.”

With that, Washington pulls on his suit jacket, quite probably to go and speak to the only-slightly-more-intimidating Commanders on the seventh floor. He’s almost out the door before he calls back over his shoulder-

“And I’m having Adrienne close your twitter account!”

And then he’s gone, leaving the two detectives alone in his office.

Alexander lets out a low groan, slumping forwards in the chair, resting his head on his hands. Lafayette sighs and walks over to him, ruffling his hair, unraveling the bun perched on the crown of his head.

“It could be worse, _cher_ , at least you aren’t banned from the office again.”

This, at least, elicits a small snort of amusement. Alexander rakes his hands through his hair, “Thank you for trying, Wash really does respect your opinion more than mine – “

“- _peut-être_ because I don’t call him Wash- “

“- _but_ at least I have something to focus on while we wait for this to, eh, wash over.”

They both break into sheepish grins at his choice of words. Tugging at his tie, Alexander leans forward and plucks the paper that Washington left for him, scanning over the contents swiftly. Lafayette peers over his shoulder, squinting with a pout at the name printed beside the words ‘MISSING’ across the top of the page.’

“Who is John Laurens?”

The picture looks like it’s taken from an ID card; the contrast is too high and the colours are distorted, but it's clear enough that the man is sporting pale blue scrubs, his dark curls tumbling around his neck, framing broad cheeks and a cautious, toothy smile. Alexander draws his gaze up from the paragraph printed below it to meet the gentle eyes staring back at him from the page, before answering quietly-

“No idea, but we’re going to find him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah? Yeah. This is gonna be DRAMATIC. I'm working with my high school french knowledge and I've never even visited the USA, so suggestions for accuracy are always welcome, as are any thoughts or comments :D Hope you enjoyed, will try make some speedy updates! xx panfs
> 
> ma cherie - my dear  
>  évidemment - obviously  
>  voilà, ce que je dis - that's what I said  
>  et puis - and then  
>  mon petit lion - my little lion  
>  pauvre - poor  
>  quand même - nevertheless  
>  enfin - in summary  
>  cher - dear  
>  peut-être - maybe


	2. check what we got

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tu es le worst.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some plot emerges, detectives get detecting and what does anyone really mean when they refer to someone as their partner?

“Alexander.” His eyes are fixated on the laptop in front of him, one hand scrolling through the enrollment records, the other absently reaching for chips from the bowl beside him. Lafayette waves his beer bottle around, reflecting the light off the pale green glass in hopes of catching his friends attention, but to no avail.

“Eh, Hamilton?” Still no response.

Frowning, Lafayette falls into the seat beside him, placing down the bottle and moving the chips out of Alexander’s reach, so his hand descents grasping onto the table.

“Alex.” Finally, he looks up.

“Mm?” Alexander blinks wearily, pulls off his glasses and rubs at his eyes. “Did you say something?”

Lafayette merely chuckles and pushes the bowl back towards him, tucking his long legs up to cross his legs elegantly on his seat. He sends Alexander a long look as he crunches noisily on a fresh handful of chips.

“You are not going to find any more answers tonight, _mon amie_.” He waves a hand at the meagre file sitting beside his laptop, that they’ve both poured over multiple times in the twelve hours since Washington handed them this case. Given their excellent record working under his command, he might have done them the kindness to mention that there was next to no evidence on the case, or on the disappearing man in question. “We’ve been over all of it already, _plusieurs fois_ \- staring at the same information all evening will not change what it tells you.”

“You don’t know that.” Alexander’s lips snap shut hastily as the words spill out. They’re harsher than he intends them to be, but he doesn’t rescind them, quickly averting his eyes to the laptop, awaiting a suitable reprimand for his tone. When none comes, it gives him pause, and he glances sheepishly back up to Lafayette, who is waiting with a smirk and a single raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, Laf.” He sits back, running his hands through his hair, exhaling slowly. “But this is ridiculous! This is quite possibly the worst case in the history of… ever!”

Lafayette lets out a dainty snort, but leans forward onto his crossed legs. If he didn’t know Alexander better, he’d accuse him of being melodramatic, or a terrible friend, or downright insane. Certainly, he’d been tempted enough to allege him of any of the three offences during the first few weeks they’d worked and lived together. By now, he knew better.

“Ever? _Bien_ , tell me Ham, how is this the worst one yet? Worse, even, than the Lexington affair?” Lafayette shrugs, “We face these kinds of cases almost every day, we will work it out!”

“What if we can’t?”

He examines Alexander’s frustrated expression, rivaling on self-loathing. That will not do.

“Oh Alex!” He smirks, puffing up his chest and gazing off into the distance. “Fear not, brave knight, this case shall not best you, not under my watch! At the beginning they all appear to be, _how do you_ -“

Alexander sits up, smacking one hand to his forehead, holding the other out to try press his fingers to Lafayette’s lips, who leaps to his feet and beyond Alexander’s reach.

“Sweet Jesus, Laf, don’t you fucking-“

“ _How do you say-“_

Alexander jumps out of his chair, snarling _“_ _Tu parles anglais mieux que moi, connard_ _,”_ But Lafayette continues to weave out of his grasp, playfully mispronouncing his words in the way he knows will be maximally irritating. 

 “-pretty da-yum shitt-ey.”

Finally catching up to his taller friend, Alexander overbalances and half-falls, flailing with outstretched arms, onto Lafayette, finally succeeding covering his mouth with his hand as their combined weight whacks into the wall behind them. Lafayette looks down at him, waggles his eyebrows and sticks out the tip of his tongue against Alexander’s palm. He gasps, swiftly removes his hand from the offending wetness and wipes it on the front of Lafayette’s shift. The pair dissolve into giggles and an easy embrace, Lafayette condescendingly patting the head now resting against his chest.

“ _Tu es le_ worst.”

Alexander reaches up and flicks Lafayette’s nose with the tip of his index finger, reveling in the adorable way it wrinkles up and then falling into laughter again as Lafayette recoils backwards, only to cuff his head back against the wall. Pushing his friend away with ease, Lafayette returns to his chair, reclaiming his beer bottle, and waving for Alexander to join him.

“Okay, so we’re doing this. Run it through for me, from the beginning.”

He takes a long, leisurely sip as Alexander settles himself back behind the laptop screen, trying and failing not to watch the expanse of Lafayette’s throat as he tips back his head and swallows;  he’s grinning, cheeks flushed and hot. He opens his mouth as if to begin talking, but then pauses. Humming, he spins in his chair to where he can just reach the fridge and pulls out another pair of drinks, spying that Lafayette’s is nearly empty, popping the lids with the edge of his shirt and flicking them in the direction of the sink, neatly missing the target with both.

“Thank goodness and prosperity that you chose law enforcement over basketball.” Lafayette scoffs.

Alexander flips him off with one hand, opening up the file. He takes a sip of his beer and retrieves his glasses, pushing them up his nose and picking up the first document on the pile, the missing person’s report.

“Presenting: Doctor John Laurens. Twenty-seven year old male, five foot eight, hazel eyes, tan skin, last seen wearing light blue scrubs with a black sweatshirt, leaving HCC emergency department on September 19th at 11:55pm, where he’d just finished his evening shift as an Attending Emergency Physician.”

Lafayette nods along as he reels off the information, interjecting as he pauses for air – “And this was normal? Nothing suspect about his time of departure or the fact that he was still wearing these, ah, scrubs when he left?”  

“As far as they’ve told us, no one thought anything of it,” Alexander passes him the report, a twinge of weariness already colouring his voice, “Until he didn’t show up for his morning shift the next day.”

“Which was not in character for our Dr Laurens?” Lafayette clearly already knows the answer to his questions, but the process of inquiry may be of some assistance and Alexander doesn’t challenge it.

“Not at all – he’d never even filed a single day of sick leave with Harlem, and when they couldn’t get through on his mobile, one of the nurses went down to his apartment when she finished her shift to check in on him, only to discover that the address he’d given them lead to the flat of a lovely old retired couple who’d never heard of a John Laurens, let alone shared a house with him.” Alexander had even called them himself, so he could hear the facts for himself.

Lafayette places down the missing person’s report and spreads out the rest of the documents across the table, waving his hand over them vaguely, tilting his head towards Alexander, “What else do we know about him, then?”

“Born twenty-seven years ago last August in Charleston, South Carolina to Eleanor and Henry Laurens.” He selects the birth certificate from the bunch of papers, “Blah, blah, baptised in the local church and all that. His, ah- his mother dies shortly after his birth. Post-natal sepsis.”

Alexander pauses, and Lafayette doesn’t respond, doesn’t move an inch, doesn’t say anything. After a moment, Alex breaks the silence with a cough and another sip of his beer. Lafayette watches carefully as he exhales slowly, then he continues.

“Now, either he was home schooled- and there’s no doubt that Senator Laurens would have no issue managing the funds for that – or he taught himself well enough to get him a frankly astoundingly excellent GPA for someone whose father genuinely believes that banning same-sex marriage will- “

Lafayette cuts him off here.

“Alex, I love you, but I’ve already had to listen to you rant about this Senator for almost two hours over lunch. He’s _le worst_ , as you say. But he died eight years ago. Stick with John, focus.”

Alexander nods, “Right.” He takes a deep breath, and shoots Lafayette an obliging smile. 

“We have his university records, which are easily the most detailed information anyone has been able to supply on Dr Laurens’ elusive life. He studies biomedical sciences at the University of South Carolina, smashes out the course in two years, and then is offered a place in their graduate course, but also receives offers from seven other medical schools – you can see them here, they publish all the offers online every year – but chooses Icahn, with Mount Sinai.”

Leaning over to pluck at the pages, Lafayette adds, “And he was on a full scholarship, yes?”

“Yeah.” Alexander rubs at his eyes again. “But first things first; of the seven universities that accepted him, there’s SC where he already had completed two wildly successful undergraduate years, as well as one in North Carolina. Then, there’s Harvard and Stanford, unarguably two of the best schools in the country.  But Laurens chooses to go to New York, to Mount Sinai, over 700 miles from his home.”

“Why? Not for want of prestige, it would seem.”

“ _Exactement_ ,” Alexander agrees fervently.

Frowning, Lafayette scratches at the back of his head.

“Do you think he was running away?”

Alexander shakes his head.

“No. Or, maybe." He squints at the screen. "But Harvard is a better school, much further away from home or whatever he’s theoretically running from, and they also offered him a free ride. Why wouldn’t he go there?”

Lafayette shrugs, “Not a fan of tea?” He allows Alexander an exaggerated eye roll before adding, “Perhaps he made the choice under pressure, or in a rush. Without properly assessing his best options.”

He pulls out the photo of Laurens again, examining the printed face.

“He looks so young,” he muses, quietly.

“He’s older than you, Laf.” Alexander counters.

Lafayette hands him the page, “That may be true, but look at that face, he still looks so young and- _comment dis,_ _désespéré_ _-_ desperate? Don’t you think?”

Alexander takes the page, looking at the now-familiar smattering of freckles, curls and tan skin. Lafayette’s right, he _does_ look desperate. There’s something in the way his eyes aren’t quite focused on the camera, his shoulders hunched forward as if he can’t get out of the seat quickly enough, lips falling apart uncertainly for what appears to be a genuine smile. And this is a hospital ID tag, hardly a mug shot. Letting out a low sigh, Alexander places it back on the table.

“Maybe he was just having a bad day, behind on rent, pissed off a friend- we can’t start making up stories from one dodgy photo.”

“We don’t have much more to work from,” counters Lafayette. “Full scholarship to Icahn, maintains excellent marks, always just good enough to keep his funding flowing –“

“-but never winning any awards or prizes, like, only just good enough? Yeah, I noticed that too.”

Alexander pulls out the university transcript they’d wrangled from the Mount Sinai records department, pouring over the figures for anything they might have missed. 

“You don’t think he could have done that intentionally? Maybe he really was running from something, or someone.”

“I think it should not be ignored. He goes on to Mount Sinai Hospital, nothing surprising there. He applies successfully to specialty college and completes emergency physician training in three years, but again, he never wins an award, he never publishes a single page research, which would surely make job selection easier?” Lafayette licks his lips carefully. “This is not usual for doctors. So yes, I think it is intentional.”

Alexander frowns, “But he gets a job nonetheless, at Harlem Health Centre. Not bad for someone presenting with nothing but good marks and a nice smile.”

“Mm, a very nice smile,” Lafayette teases. Alexander flushes a little- he needs to stop thinking about that smile- but presses on.

“He signs the contract to work as a fellow in September and then there’s nothing other than fortnightly payslips for a year until last week, which is almost a year.”

“And he seems to be a careful spender.” Lafayette picks out the bank statement they’d printed off. “More than 300,000 a year – that’s pretty good, isn’t it? But he’s _frugal_ with groceries, no signs of luxury spending or accommodation payments, he has more saved than he could ever need. And then this-  he withdraws $2000 every pay day on the dot, and we don’t know where that’s going – that could be for lodging?”

Alexander watches as Lafayette skims over the list of transactions with an exacting finger, but knowing that he’s unlikely to uncover anything new.

“Where did he stay when he was at university?” He wonders aloud.

Lafayette doesn’t look up from the bank statements as he says, “College housing. Covered by his scholarship, but didn’t seem to participate in any fraternity groups or activities, or none that there are records of.” But his finger pauses on the second page and he looks up to meet Alexander’s gaze.

“Do we have any flight records, other than his initial trip from South Carolina to New York?” Alexander fingers fly to the keyboard, typing rapidly as he nods along to Lafayette’s words, “Check around holiday seasons, that’s when people tend to get sentimental- or adventurous.”

There’s nothing but the sound of keys for the next minute or so, Lafayette finishing his trawl through the records to no avail, picking up the next document, Laurens’ professional review, completed six months into his fellowship. It presents nothing particularly novel, Laurens is a hardworking young doctor, quiet but friendly, providing consistently excellent patient care but otherwise unremarkable. There’s a short comment at the end from the supervising consultant, Dr Greene, who writes- ‘Consider balancing time for your non-academic hobbies more carefully, I can promise you two things - no one’s invincible and everyone needs a good night’s sleep once in a while.’

Lafayette smiles at these words, sliding his glance up to observe Alexander, his glasses sliding slightly down his nose as he types, illumination from the glow from the laptop’s screen showing up the dark smudges beneath his eyes. His eyebrows quiver as his gaze darts from one side of the screen to the other, reading rapidly, lips slightly parted with concentration; it’s a beautiful sight, Alexander Hamilton hard at work. Even if it’s achingly familiar, Lafayette is still content to sit back and observe the man in silence as the moments pass.

“Nothing.” Alexander huffs out a resentful breath, hands clattering a halt. “He took that flight and no others, assuming he never flew under a false name. Which people have a tendency to do if they’re trying to run away.”

Lafayette lets out a short huff, and picks up the bottle again.

“Do you think that maybe we are looking for someone who has deliberately gone missing?”

Alexander raises and drops a single shoulder with little commitment, checking his watch and immediately switching directions to reach for the TV remote, switching on the screen propped up against the wall. They’d intended to get a proper frame to sit it on, just like they’d intended to fix the toilet roll holder in the bathroom and put a new shelf in the pantry to replace the one they’d snapped; he liked to think that their rambling apartment had fantastic character, even if Lafayette still shuddered every time he walked past the garish wallpaper of the hallway.

The screen flickers to life, displaying the late evening news. As they watch, the main stories are presented- a recent diplomatic lunch between the President and the new Prime Minister of France (-Lafayette snorts, “S _oyons voir combien de temps celui-ci dure..._ “ and Alexander, catching the muttered words, reaches over so they can clink their bottle together –) and, after a piece on recent protests in Alabama, the proud faces and ‘Black Lives Matter’ signs displayed all too briefly, before the news turns to recent sporting events and celebrity gossip, and Alex groans, hitting the mute button.

“ _Merde_ , who can say how many people go missing and we never hear about it?” Lafayette nurses his bottle. Alexander turns back to his laptop, tapping something quickly before replying.

“Well, there are ninety thousand people missing in America at any given time.”

Lafayette chokes a little on the beer he’d just gulped down. As he splutters, wiping at his chin, Alexander’s gaze moves back to the muted news flashing across the screen in front of them, unfazed and waiting for his friend to settle before continuing.

“Nine hundred thousand people reported missing every year, and most of the time there isn’t even some asshole stupid enough to get landed with the job of trying to find them again.”

Lafayette hums his assent, leaning back in his chair and smirking with more elegance than either of them should possess when there are more than eight empty beer bottles on the kitchen table.

“And to think, it was you who taught me the phrase, ‘rhetorical question’, _non_?”

Alexander returns the grin back at his friend.

“It’s a lot, isn’t it? And that’s in America, where we have systems for recording and reporting that kind of thing, who knows how many fucking people are lost in the countries where there’s no one interested in hearing your report.”

A sudden silence cuts between them with a fine edge, neither man pursuing the elevated pitch of his words or his spiking passion. He recognises his own fervour, of course, just as he recognises that he should be forever grateful for Lafayette’s more composed temperament in dealing with his variable mood. Sometimes, often, he wonders how he could be so lucky to have Lafayette as a partner. He repeats the thought, aloud. Lafayette just laughs.   

“I can never tell if you think the world of yourself, or if you think nothing of yourself, _mon amie_.” He grins. “Or perhaps, it is a bit of both? Either way, I am in no rush to find out. You usually tell me what I need to know, eventually.”

Alexander shakes his head, dragging his fingers over the keys slowly, indulging of the sound they make underneath the gentle pressure passing over each one.

“The only thing you need to know is how to avoid Harlem pressing charges when I go and shake some sense into whoever was working in workforce management and managed to register Laurens onto their staff without picking up that the phone number and address he gave them were fake.”

He selects out the missing person's report again, turning to the second page, which features the verbatim statement collected from the hospital. He's barely read three lines when a shadow is cast over the page, and he looks up to see Lafayette looming over him, slowly taking the empty bottle out of his hand and placing it onto the table. He follows its path from behind the lens of his glasses, blinking away the dryness itching at the corner of his eyes.

“I need another drink,” He concludes.

“No, you need to take a break.”

Alexander scoffs, but gently.

“You usually wait until I’ve been working on a case for more than two days before trying that one, Laf.” He slides off his glasses, closing his eyes and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “I must be getting weary in my old age.” The beginning of a headache is throbbing at the top of his neck and he possibly shouldn’t have had all those beers while still hoping to think clearly enough to work through the night. But then there’s the gentle pressure of a larger set of hands, easing into the muscles along his upper spine, and it’s all he can do not to moan too loudly, leaning forward onto the table and his folded arms as Lafayette works his clever fingers into the tight muscles he finds there.

“ _C’est ca,_ my old man Ham.” Lafayette teases as he works, “I’ll have to ditch you and find myself a newer model sometime soon.”

Alexander twists in his seat, pouting up at his friend’s wicked grin.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Lafayette just grins more widely, his hands outstretched upwards in feigned resignation.

“It’s unprofessional, conducting investigations when your partner needs a four-wheel frame to get around and I may be a good friend, _mais_ _lorsque tu commences besoin de quelqu'un pour changer vos couches_ -“

His words are cut off abruptly by Alexander’s lips crashing into his own as he surges up from his seat, hands finding a hold at the collar of Lafayette’s, his body following behind one second later to press up against him from hip to shoulder, warm and unabashed. Their mouths meet eagerly, a firm resolve of steady and ardent pressure from Alexander, the scratch of Lafayette’s trimmed beard catching on the corner of his lips, his strong hands now repurposed to link behind Alexander’s back, not hesitating to pull him closer. They draw apart after more than a moment, barely an inch, the taste of warm beer and warmer lips caught between their grins. After he's caught a few quick breaths, Lafayette is leaning back down to press three short kisses in quick succession to Alexander’s smile.

“And to think, _that_ is what convinces you to take a break? _Hein_ , I wish I’d known earlier!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a rude place to end a chapter! Even the frenchiest of fries need a way to unwind sometime :3 and (oops) lots of french in this one, but the more I read about Lafayette the more I see him bilingualing it up, particularly as Ham understands him without issue.. Hope you enjoyed! Thoughts and comments welcome below and see you in a week :D xx 
> 
> mon amie - my friend  
> plusieurs fois - many times  
> bein - good  
> tu parles anglais mieux que moi, connard - you speak english better than i do, bastard  
> tu es le (worst) - you are the  
> exactement - exactally  
> comment dis, désespéré - how do you say, desperate  
> soyons voir combien de temps celui-ci dure - we'll see how long this one lasts  
> merde - shit  
> c'est ca - thats it  
> mais lorsque tu commences besoin de quelqu'un pour changer vos couches - but once you're needing someone to change your diapers  
> hein - huh


	3. and so the balance shifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> '-you might find the night time the right time for kissing; night time is my time for just reminiscing-'

Hitting the button on the side of Lafayette's alarm clock, propped precariously on the bedside table, Alexander frowns at the number displayed as it illuminates. It's barely past midnight. Fingers fumbling to find purchase at his left wrist, careful palpation confirms what he feels deep within his chest. His pulse is steady and slow, but his mind is still racing, limbs restless. He can't stay like this. Rolling off the bed, he waves off Lafayette's half-hearted attempts at a protest, and stumbles to the bathroom, his thighs aching, an easy smile on his lips.

When he makes his way back into the bedroom, he leaves the hallway door open, allowing the yellow light to spill out into the room. Lafayette has rolled onto his back, his muscles melting lax into the soft sheets. It should be considered illegal to be able to look so carelessly flawless at any given time of the day. Alexander muses that perhaps he would mind it more if he wasn’t privy to the more perfect phases of his beauty; the genuine crinkle at the corner of his eyes, the way he rubs his feet together while he’s dreaming, the way his hair always, _always,_ falls perfectly, no matter how clean or dirty, long or short he might choose to have it. It could be frustrating, always being so close to such beauty, but Lafayette is so exceedingly generous with his wealth of personality that jealousy is the last concept on Alexander’s mind.

In the unforgiving shadows cast by the hallway’s bare light, Lafayette is nothing short of picturesque. His eyes are already threatening to flicker closed, that perfect hair splayed out in messy curls across the pillow, his lips parting peacefully- the temptation to slip back between the sheets and join him is immense. To be honest, Alexander’s bed is vacant most nights of the week, and not just because Lafayette’s is far more comfortable and has a lot more space to lay out all the case notes for any final considerations, before he concedes to his partner’s nightly and rather insistent demands to-

“Get in here and go the fuck to sleep, Alex.”

Even if his eyes are still closed, Lafayette can clearly hear his hesitation. With a regretful sigh, Alexander shakes his head, not that Lafayette's in any position to notice it, and begins rooting around in the pile of their clothes for his underwear.

“No can do. Dr Laurens has been missing for more than 24 hours already, we can’t waste any time. I think that lady who filed the missing person’s might have more to tell us and according to her schedule she’ll be down at the hospital all night. Furthermore,” He pulls up his jeans, fiddling with the button, “I’m feeling surprisingly re-energised.”

Lafayette just groans wearily.

“Do not even think of wearing my Oakland top.” He mutters, sitting up just in time to catch Alexander hastily pulling of the shirt that was already half-way down his torso. He tosses it to Lafayette with an apologetic grin.

“You don’t have to come; I’ll survive one night out on my own.”

Alexander almost doesn’t catch the mumbled reply- “ _j’en doute_ -” as he heads to the kitchen. Almost. Grinning to himself, he hums as he pulls two mugs from the sink, rinses them briefly and flicks away the remaining drops of water before filling them up with instant coffee powder and flicking the kettle switch. It flicks back off as the steam comes billowing out of the spout, as Lafayette follows him through a few moments later, the Oakland top in question stretched gloriously across his broad shoulders, pulling his curls back into a high bun. Alexander pours the boiling water into both mugs, adding a dash of milk to the smaller mug before holding it out to his bleary-eyed partner.

“You have misplaced your buttons.” He croaks in response, before seizing the coffee’s from Alexander’s hands. Looking down at the shirt he’d pulled on, Alexander realises that the two sides do not line up, and hastily unbuttons the lot, fixing it neatly before tucking the shirt into his jeans.

“I meant it, though, you really don’t have to come.” He takes a sip from his own mug, wincing as he burns his tongue on the contents. “I probably won’t even get anything useful from tonight.”

Lafayette gives him a look.

“If that is true, please remind me why we are not still in bed? We could still be in bed.”

“Ah, you see, _mon chevalier fringant_ , I can’t just lie here while this incredibly handsome young doctor is unaccounted for.”

He waggles his eyebrows at Lafayette, who simply closes his eyes slowly, fingers tangled around the warm mug.

“Do you want to text Peggy, or shall I?”

Alexander frowns, “Why? She’s probably asleep, and anyway, Wash already gave her the bank investigation to work on with Burr.” He does his best not to sound bitter that she’s getting to work a real case, but she doesn’t deserve to be held back because of him. Lafayette may just be too sentimental and loyal for his own good.

“ _Franchement_ , you have to be the, ah, dumbest smart person I have ever met,” Lafayette’s eyes snap open again, but he’s grinning. “Who did you say filed the report?”

“Uh,” Alexander scratches his head, “One of the neurosurgical fellows –“

“ _Qui s’appelle Angelica, oui_?”

Flipping through the pile of papers in front of him, Alexander finds the one he was looking for and whips it out.

“Yes! Dr Angelica Schuy- oh. Oh.”

Lafayette pulls his phone from his back pocket and thrusts it at Alexander.

“I’ll let you call her, _mon petit lion._ ” He turns smartly on his toes, heading back out of the room, “ _Et moi_ , I’m going to find you one of my old pants, so I don’t have to walk on the opposite side of the road when you get arrested for indecency.”

Alexander flips him off with both hands.

 

As they walk, Peggy’s hoarse laughter taunts him audibly through the speaker of the phone. Lafayette leans down to listen in better, nodding along, his hair tickling at the outer edge of Alexander’s ear.

“Yeah, that’s my sister.” She crunches noisily on something, and Alexander moves the phone slightly further from their faces , not particularly delighting in the close range experience of her teeth in action. “And yeah, she’s in tonight. I got a snap from her maybe five minutes ago when she started her break.”

“Okay, thanks Peg.” Alexander eventually replies, swatting at Lafayette with his hip, and missing, but causing the other man to stumble with the distraction and fall slightly behind.

“Yeah, yep. I’ll tell her you say hi.” He chuckles amicably at something she says, and as he hurries to catch up again, Lafayette makes sure that Alexander can see his disappointed pout at missing out on the exchange.

“We should just catch the end of her break if we hurry,” Alexander explains, and they pick up speed, Lafayette’s long legs easily pounding down the pavement, while Alexander breaks into a half-jog in his attempt to give up. Five minutes later, when Lafayette suggests that they take a taxi, Alexander pulls to a halt, chest heaving, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up of agreement.

"Why the fuck were we walking, anyway?" He retorts, once he has his breath back. Lafayette merely shakes his head and heralds over a taxi, pulling the door open for Alexander, who gives him a short curtsy at the knees, bundling into the back seat reeling off the hospital's address to the driver.

The taxi drops them off at the emergency entrance of the hospital, as that’s the only door that’s still open. A text from Peggy alerts them to wait just inside, and that Angelica will find them. The waiting room is busy, with people of every age and size filling the uncomfortable looking plastic chairs, heads darting up eagerly as nurses pull open the door and call out a name, one mob swiftly rising to the call and bustling through into the treatment area as all the others sink back down and will themselves to be patient just a little while longer.

"So, you must be Peg's cop buddies?"

The sharp voice behind them startles them to turn. They're greeted by the sight of a small yet intimidating figure, decked out in scrub pants, white t-shirt and pale blue hair net, neatly containing bundle of dark curls. Her equally dark eyes narrow at the pair of them. Alexander steps forward, extending out a hand.

"Alexander Hamilton."

She grins, or, bares her impeccable teeth at him, taking his hand in a firm shake.

"Angelica Schuyler, but you already know that, of course."

Her gaze flicks over to Lafayette, who follows suit, stepping forward and seizing her hand in his and leaning forward to brush his lips against it.

"Lafayette," He offers as explanation. She laughs, tossing her head back.

"Yeah, don't worry, there's mistaking which one you are, French-fry," she squeezes his hand for a short instant, before dropping it and folding her arms over her chest with a deep sigh. It seems less to do with their appearance, and more a reflection of the rest of her night and what lies ahead, but Alexander feels a slight twinge of regret for interrupting what might be the only 30 minutes of respite that this woman will have for some time. She, however, doesn't hesistate, and turns to lead them through a side door into another corridor, this time deserted. She leans against the wall and gives them both a long, expectant look.

"I've only got a few minutes before I have to get back, so lets make this quick."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> frenchness:  
> j’en doute - i doubt it  
> mon chevalier fringant - my dashing knight  
> franchement - honestly  
> qui s’appelle Angelica, oui? - whose name is Angelica, yes?  
> et moi - and I


	4. tell me what we're looking for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr Angelica Schuyler has some answers.

 

Alexander clears his throat, smoothing down the front of his sweater and tucking his hair behind his ears, ignoring the quirk of Lafayette’s eyebrow at his sudden concern for his grooming.

“What can you tell us about the night Dr Laurens’ went missing?” It seems like a good place to start, but Angelica looks more amused than thoughtful as she replies.

“He wasn’t there? I mean, that’s really it, he wasn’t at handover, apparently, and he’s never late, never. Which is pretty amazing, we all have our bad days, bad traffic or miss the alarm.” She scratches at the skin beneath her chin, thinking for a moment, “I think it was Georgina who came and found me, she’s one of the ED nurses. Had seen us chatting before and thought maybe he’d told me something – I explained that I hadn’t heard anything, but then when I didn’t see him around the locker room at the end of the shift, I was relatively surprised. A little inquiry and I find out that he never turned up at all.”

Lafayette nods as she’s speaking, his low hums of agreement to each of her comments urging her on as Alexander frowns at her last sentence.

“And you sent in the missing person’s that very morning?”

“Seems a little premature? It’s not. Like I said, he’s never late. When I heard he’d skipped out, and never even called in, I knew something was up. Well, that, and the fact that I couldn’t get through to his phone. I didn’t report it for about six hours – honestly I didn’t think anyone would take it seriously after such a short time officially missing but I guess there was a lot of aspects that didn’t add up about the whole thing and –“ She motions at the pair of them, “-here you are.”

Looking down at the pair of them, not in uniform, certainly not carrying any form of weapons, investigating in the middle of the night without even alerting their superior, Lafayette wonders how seriously Angelica imagines they are taking the case. She’s not without reason for surprise, had Hamilton not decided to become a public disgrace, he’s not sure how long it would have taken for this case to be picked up- or if it would warrant anything more than a low-level recruit’s inexperienced hands.

Alexander processes her words swiftly, before pressing on, “When was the last time you say him, then?”

Angelica shoots back instantly, “The night before; we left the locker room together, not unusual, and he dropped me off at Equalitea for my morning cuppa, again pretty much what happens any time we finish our shifts at the same time.” She pauses, head tilting slightly to one side as she recalls the event in her mind. Alexander foot taps impatiently on the floor, apparently unconsciously, as once Lafayette jabs him in the side, he stops immediately, grimacing sheepishly. Angelica seems lost in thought, as she still doesn’t reply for a moment or so more.

“You know what’s funny? He gave me hug before I went in, he never does that- I think he gave me a hug when I had to work a double shift on my birthday, and that’s about it.”

“Not the type for physical affection?” Alexander presses.

“Not the type for any affection.” She corrects, “He was nice, but that’s as far as he extends himself in that way. He listened and cared about what was happening in my day, in my life, but I barely knew what was going on in his.”

Lafayette holds out a hand, speaking up for the first time since their discussion began, “This morning that he hugged you, did you notice anything else unusual? Perhaps he was worried or angry about something?”

She shrugs, “He didn’t seem any more stressed out than any of us are, really. Harlem’s a tough place to work, always busy, always tricky. I wasn’t even on his team, so I only saw him professionally for consults-”

“He was a good doctor?” Lafayette interjects curiously.

Angelica frowns at him. It’s surprisingly similar to the way Peggy’s face falls when he mispronounces a witnesses name to their face, though less amused and decidedly more lethal.

“John _is_ a fantastic doctor. But you’d hear that from anyone here, from the head of department to the cleaner – he’s a good guy.” She sighs, weariness extending across her face with well-worn ease, and Alexander wonders just how long it’s been since she’s seen a decent night’s sleep. He know what it feels to look like the way she’s looking right now.

“How about not professionally, what was he like as a friend?” He enquires, as Lafayette scribbles in French on a small notepad he’s produced from one of the many pockets of his coat.

She shrugs again, crossing her arms defensively over her chest.

“I wish I could tell you. I was probably closest to him, and that’s only because we both went to Sinai and had lockers next to each other – he kept to himself. He wasn’t unfriendly but- he didn’t make friends. He didn’t establish connections.” Despite the candid nature of her answers, her words are analytical, reading into John’s actions, almost unconsciously.

Her pager, clipped to the waistband of her pants, suddenly buzzes ferociously – her hand flies to it instinctively, pulling it out to simultaneously switch of the alert and read the message displayed on the screen.

“Looks like our time is up, boys. This has been fun.”

She pushes herself up off the wall, shoving the pager back into it’s holder and turning on the spot with a smirk. Taking a few determined steps in the opposite direction, she pauses, looking back over her shoulder with a bemused expression.

“Well, come on! I’ll drop you off at the locker room, I’m heading that way anyway – his stuff should all still be there,” she says, as if they should have the common decency to realise what her plans are without her having to baby them through stating each step aloud. There’s no mistaking it, she’s definitely Peggy’s sister. Exchanging a brief, amused look, Alexander and Lafayette head off after her.

The locker room is, conveniently, deserted. Angelica explains that overnight, most staff who aren’t stuck on ward can be found relishing the minutes of their freedom either stuffing their faces at the tables of the long-closed cafeteria, or stuffing a cigarette between their lips, crowding in the cool night’s air behind the trees which line the back entrance to the hospital. Lafayette snorts a laugh at her description of the infamous, ‘many legged tree’, the product of new laws forbidding smoking on hospital grounds. Angelica has a way with words which seems wasted on medical reports. She points out Dr Laurens’ locker to them, shrugs once more when asked about what the code to open it might, then disappears through a different door.

“Peggy says hi!” Lafayette calls at the door, now swinging shut again. There is, of course, no response.

He turns back to the lockers, shoving his hands into his pockets with a mischievous grin.

“ _Trop tard_?” He wonders aloud, but Alexander is already busying himself with the lock, kneeling down by the metal door, muttering aloud as he works.

“Let’s assume no one else has tried to open this yet, Angelica hasn’t and she’s the most likely to try or have a decent shot at it. We have one, eight, six, seven – can you remember that?” Lafayette opens his mouth to respond with the fact that he already has, but Alexander doesn’t pause for a reply, “Most of the time people don’t move more than one of the numbers, and usually it’s gonna be one of the edge numbers, less likely to accidently turn two at the same time, so lets try the one first-“

As he fiddles with the displayed digits, Lafayette wonders if he is speaking aloud to instruct those around him in his technique, or whether he genuinely doesn’t notice the difference between his internal and external dialogue. Probably the latter. After attempting one digit up and down for both first and last numbers to no success, he’s biting his lower lip as he tries the middle numbers, again with no budging from the locker door as he tries to pull it open.

“ _Merde_.” He tucks the strands of hair back behind his ears from where they’ve swung forwards – he really should use those hair ties more often, Lafayette muses – moving his weight back onto his the balls of his feet. “Okay, well it was never going to be that easy, of course. But every once in a while it’d be nice to catch a break, you know? Back to step one; one – eight – six – seven, yeah?”

“ _Oui, mille huit cent soixante sept_.” The selection of language is intentional this time. It’s easy enough to slip between the two with friends who are just as bilingual as he is, but here, Lafayette isn’t entirely sure if he’s serving any purpose other than reminding Alexander that there is someone else in the room so he’s not going to be accused of insanity for his unconscious rambling (again). However, his choice of words give Alexander pause, enough to divert his gaze from the locker and look up at his partner, eyes wide with sudden comprehension.

“What did you say?”

Lafayette licks his lips, slowly, unsure as to why the sudden change of attention.

“Uh, _mille huit cent soixante sept ? Ce n’est pas_ -“ But Alexander is ignoring him again, eyes and hands back on the dials of the lock, flicking one of the wheels until suddenly-

“Ha!”

The locker door swings open. Lafayette claps his hands twice, before easing himself down onto his knees beside Alexander.

“And how did you work that one out?” He spies the code now displayed on the lock - one eight six five – still unsure as to what it was about what he said that gave Alexander such inspiration.

“Let’s just call it a hunch. Our Dr Laurens’ apparently has better taste in extra-curricular activities than I’d originally anticipated.” His words are a little muffled as he inserts his head and half his torso into the locker, making a few curious noises before gathering all the contents in his arms and dragging them out onto the grey carpet floor.

Lafayette shakes his head affectionately at Alexander’s lack of consideration for the environment around them, for not even considering that someone else may need to access the lockers and by conducting their business spread across the floor they may be hindering their approach, but joins him in sifting and sorting through the contents they find there.

There is, in fact, a method to their madness, though it may not appear that way at first. Any documents or dockets, with written information- dates, names, locations, go in one pile. Any object without unique identifiers which add context but no specificity – the plain cardboard tongue depressors, the gloves, the chocolate bar wrapper – go in another. Food and clothes go in the third pile, though there’s none of either of those to be found in Dr Laurens’ belongings, in fact, the most part of their hoard is either printouts of medical journals or drug information, or receipts. There’s a lot of receipts, more than most people would usually keep in their work locker. It appears as if he’s kept a record of every transaction he’s made, all in cash, and all for very mundane, everyday purchases.

“Did he do anything other than eat pizza and drink unhealthy amounts of coffee?” Alexander wonders aloud, after some time spent reading each of the receipts. Lafayette doesn’t respond, a large map of New York folded out between his legs, slowly being covered with tiny crosses at each of the locations John Laurens made a purchase.

“I am more interested in the fact that each of these establishments seem to be along this one route,” He holds up the map to show Alexander the pattern so far, “Starting at the hospital and ending right around, er, here.” He points to one of the small black crosses. “He’s visited this place fourteen times, more than any of his other coffee locations. It must have taken some effort to visit a new café almost every day, even with the ridiculous number of cafes around this street- I didn’t even realise there were so many until they were all laid out, _comme c_ _a_.”

Alexander leans forward onto his arms to take a closer look.

“Anything special about that place?” He knows that Lafayette will have already looked it up by now, never one to accept an anomaly in the pattern as anything but unusual.

But Lafayette shakes his head, “Nothing so far as I could tell. Coffee, toast and eggs, open for six years, two sets of owners.” But he grins, nonetheless. “And it opens at five in the morning.”

Checking the time on his watch, Alexander grins back at him. “Which should give us enough time to sort through this all and catch them for an early dose of caffeine and intel, no?”

“You know,” Lafayette muses, turning back to the pile of receipts, re-opening the maps application on his phone to find the next address, “Before I met you, I used to get a lot more sleep. _Peut-être_ , at least six hours each night.”

Alexander waves off the comment with a flick of his hand.

“Wasted time, _mon ami_. Look how much more we can get done this way!” His attention is back on the medical documents, pencil alternating from being tucked behind his ear to scribbling notes on the pages of Lafayette’s notebook. Shaking his head fondly at Alexander, Lafayette reaches for his own pen, marking another cross along the road beside the hospital.

At least they have a little more to work with now. There may be hope of finding Dr John Laurens’ after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because even if he pursued medicine, there's no way that John Laurens is not a history nerd in my books. More pieces to the puzzle, more leads to follow - when oh when will Lafayette finally get some naps! Tune in next week to find out xx


	5. what to say to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I hope to replace all the blood in my body with caffeine and become immortal" (Anonymous)

The café is as unremarkable as Lafayette had assumed it would be. Plain windows at the front, several stools along a front bench, still empty at this early hour, scattered tables and chairs and a weary barista starting up her machine, seeming genuinely surprised to see customers ready at the door at five in the morning.

“Long night?” She says after taking their order, pulling out two mugs.

“You have no idea,” Lafayette responds darkly. He can’t quite count the hours since he’d woken up the day before, but it was too many to have passed without rest. The two shots of coffee couldn’t come soon enough. His face must have betrayed his sentiment, because she laughs musically.

“Alright, alright. Give me a second.” She’s only just started grinding the beans as Alexander thrusts the picture taken from the missing person’s poster under her nose. They’d figured it was better to neglect to mention the context to their questions initially, just in case she was scared off by the fact that he was under investigation, and was reluctant to provide information.

“Do you know this man?” He demands.

She pauses, wiping her hands on the front of her apron as she glances down at the image, but her face splits into an easy smile as she turns back to the fridge to pull out some milk.

“Phillip? Yeah sure, he’s come in here a few times recently.”

 _Phillip?_ Lafayette mouths the name at Alexander, who shrugs, similarly bewildered. He shoves the photo back into his bag.

“When was the last time you saw him?” She looks up again at his question, pausing in her task, and Lafayette rather preferred that Alexander would wait until they had their drinks before asking all these questions.

“Maybe a week ago?” She frowns, “What, are you guys like the police or something?”

Alexander responds by pulling out his badge. Lafayette lets out a small whine as she puts the milk back down onto the bench, eyes widening.

“Oh shit, I was kidding! Is something wrong, is Phillip okay?” She wrings her hands nervously, clearly unprepared for this kind of start to her day. “I swear I don’t know much about the guy, only that he has a major sweet tooth and I think he works at a hospital? A few times he came in here wearing scrubs.”

The anxiety in the air is palpable, and before Alexander can ask another question, Lafayette cuts him off with an arm placed between them and barista.

“Why don’t you make us our coffees, and one for yourself, and let’s sit down together, _oui_?” He suggests. She nods, wide eyed, and recommences on the drinks as Lafayette steers a silently protesting Alexander to one of the tables.

“What was that about?” He mutters, once they’re seated and settled waiting. “She was giving us answers.”

Lafayette places a hand over his moving lips, “Shhh, _mon petit lion, c’est trop tôt pour moi_. _Premièrement_ , coffee. _Et puis_ , we can have answers.” He remains resolute in his plan until the glass of milk and caffeine is placed before him. He empties three sachets of sugar into the concoction, before downing the first half of the glass in one mouthful. The barista, who introduces herself as Theodosia, watches with an amused smirk as he proceeds to delicately sip the rest of the drink.

“Satisfactory?” She inquires.

He nods, “Very. You were right, it’s been a long night.” He notes her own choice of a mug of green tea. “Not coffee for you?”

She shakes her head, “Not yet. I have to limit myself to two a day, or it would end up being fifteen by ten in the morning, with some of the people we see coming through here.” He grins back at her, but their exchange is disrupted by a short cough from the man beside him.

Looking back to his partner, who is tapping impatiently on the table top, notebook open and pen primed, her eyes widen again and she sits upright once more.

“Right, police. Investigation.” She frowns, repeating her earlier question- “Is Phillip okay?”

“We don’t know,” Alexander replies, looking beyond relieved to be able to speak again, “But we’re hoping that you could help us work out some more details.”

She nods, keenly, “Anything I can do to help!”

Scribbling her name, and the name of the café, at the top of the page, Alexander leans forward, “When was the last time you saw, er, Phillip?”

“Two weeks ago, Tuesday.” She flushes a little, “I remember because that’s the same day I found out that I was pregnant – am pregnant. I remember thinking, he’s a doctor, so maybe I’d ask him for a recommendation, you know, for a good obstetrician? When a bit more time had passed.”

Lafayette congratulates her on the good news as Alexander scrawls ‘two weeks’ under the title on his page, before adding, “Has he been a customer of yours for a long time?”

They already know the answer to this question from the receipts. With a frown, Theodosia takes a moment to think before answering.

“I probably saw him for the first time around, oh, December last year?” That matches precisely with what Lafayette and Alexander had already read. “We had added a cinnamon mochaccino to the menu, Christmas special you know, they let me get creative with the specials, and he ordered two of them, take away. He always orders take away.” She pauses, “Is that relevant?”

Alexander smiles, urging her on, “Anything you can think of about his visits is helpful.”

“Well,” She pauses, thinking, “He ordered two coffees when he came in the morning, and a couple of times he stopped by just before we closed, but those times it was always just the one.” She smiles, warmly, charmingly. “That’s how I knew he was the one with the sweet tooth.”

“Why do you say that?” Lafayette asks, finishing off the last mouthful of his coffee. He can see why Laurens was drawn back to this café above others – Theodosia makes a damn good brew.

“In the morning there was always one long black, one shot of coffee and then hot water,” She explains, in case it’s somehow relevant, and Alexander dutifully notes it down, “And a mochaccino with double chocolate, cinnamon and two sugars.”

Alexander’s pen pauses, as he raises his eyebrows at the order. She laughs.

“I know, pretty great order. Since the first time he came in, he always asked for extra cinnamon on top, said that’s what took it from delicious to stupendous,” She laughs again, one of her braids slipping out of her carefully styled updo, falling in front of her eyes. She tucks it back in place carefully, “Even if he didn’t talk much, he always seemed so lovely- sweet, you know?”

They exit the café ten minutes later with a second cup of coffee each, fingers curled around the take-away cups. Lafayette sips at the warm liquid with a pleased expression, Alexander reading back over the notes he’s made.

“She seems nice,” He comments, “But unfortunately unhelpful.”

“On the contrary,” Lafayette proposes, “We know that Laurens was not completely without companions; he had at least one friend, or perhaps _un_ _petit copain_.”

Alexander nods slowly, taking a large gulp of his coffee, then flipping back to the notes he’d made on the hospital floor, some hours earlier.

“And we can assume that he lived somewhere nearer to here than any of the other establishments, given that this is the only place where he’s paid enough for two drinks instead of one.”

Lafayette makes a surprised noise- he hadn’t picked that up. To be fair, there had been a _lot_ of receipts to read through. This Dr Laurens’ has done a good job of making their work more difficult.

“Only paying with cash, taking care to change the locations he frequented, using a false name-“ Lafayette ticks off each of the behaviours on his free hand as he speaks, “There is no doubting now that Laurens was running or hiding from something.”

“No doubt.” Alexander echoes, “The curious thing is, he’s being doing all that for more than a year, as far as we can tell. What changed?”

Lafayette doesn’t have an answer for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What will they do next? Tune in next week for an interesting discovery and someone who might actually know something about our mysterious Dr Laurens! xx


	6. blow us all away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not exactly what they were looking for.

There are eleven apartment buildings within a block radius of the café. It would be nice to say that two of New York’s best and brightest had come up with an ingenious way of narrowing down the search with a greater specificity than that, but they both agree that, with so little personal clues to work out, it would be foolish to try cut down their work through theory. Now, it was time for the hard, ground work.

“You know what I think happened?” Alexander announces, for the third time in the last hour, his voice only slightly betraying his increased exertion as they reach the top of the stairs to the seventh floor.

This is the third building they’ve tackled so far. And, so far they’ve had very little luck. Given that they had just had the door shut in their face for the forty-second time in a row in this set of apartments alone, Lafayette couldn’t say that he particularly did care to hear another spectacularly convoluted attempt to piece together the facts that they had collected so far. For someone with such a vivid imagination, Alexander was wasted as a law enforcement officer.

But, above all else, Lafayette is a loyal and begrudgingly easily amused friend, so as his foot hits the landing of the seventh floor and he is met by Alexander’s smiling, expectant face, he obliges.

“Go on then, what?”

The delightful glee that he receives in return almost makes it worth listening to his endless contrived theories. Almost.

“So Laurens is running an illegal organ transplant operation out the backdoors of HHC, which would explain his ridiculous attempts at privacy as well as his ongoing efforts to reduce attention drawn to himself on ward in any regard. We know he’s highly skilled as a doctor and I’m sure the people accessing his services wouldn’t particularly care that he isn’t technically a transplant surgeon- it’s still better than having to head overseas to an equally illegal but likely far less sterile and more corrupt scheme for the same end outcome.”

Lafayette sighs, taking the opportunity to lean up against the wall.

“Any particular reason that his illicit business is organ donation and not a regular, nice and simple drugs operation? It would be much more common and also plus facile, non?”

Alexander shrugs.

“Humour me,” Is is best justification. He’s standing just close enough that Lafayette can lean in and brush his lips against the corner of Alexander’s mouth.

“ _Et bien, ma cherie,_ consider yourself humoured.”

Alexander rolls his eyes, but his smile does not wane, and instead he props himself up besides Lafayette, his hand gestures only growing more wild as he extracts the remains of his story.

“This kind of thing could only ever work in New York, of course, where it’s busy and understaffed, people don’t notice when little pieces of equipment go missing, so long as they get them back soon enough.” Lafayette disagrees – in his experience of government funded workplaces, everything must be perfectly accounted for and poor paperwork is never permissible. But, then again, this is America, not France. He must remember to make concessions.

“And when Daddy dies and leaves him a feasible sum of cash to capitalise on, business only gets better. So, he’s been running this operation for a few years in the lead up to his qualification, a cash only operation with, until about one year ago, when everything changes.”

Alexander’s eyes widen for dramatic effect. Lafayette tries his best not to snort with amusement. One of them has to retain some class.

“The fire nation attacks?” He proposes. Alexander smacks him on the shoulder.

“This is the reason our internet bills are always so ridiculously high!” He exclaims. “And no, there’s no grand scheme issues, in fact his business has only prospered over the last year. No, what happens is he meets a young, Hungarian girl, fleeing her country and persecution, who is in dire need of a kidney transplant and also enjoys strong, black coffee. And he falls in love.”

“Hey,” Lafayette mock-whispers, “That is very, how you say, _hétérosexuel de toi,_ Alexander.” He raises a persecutory eyebrow at his very un-heteronormative friend.

“Sue me, I’ve already named her Margit." Alexander waves away the criticism with a flap of his hands. "Anyway, She gets her kidney, gets the man, and they move in together, into whichever of these apartments would be the most annoying for two delightfully good looking but unfortunately unlucky officers to find.”

“That is, of course, their primary motivation when selecting an apartment.” Lafayette muses.

Alexander nods, straight-faced.

“Which is fine, until Margit reveals just why she was on the run from Hungary – she is, in fact, a top-level government spy, who had been collecting information in Russia for the Hungarian secret forces, until she decided that she didn’t want that life anymore, and tried to break away. Which is, through malnutrition and whatever else she had to endure in her no doubt epic passage from St Petersburg to Harlem, how she fucked up her kidneys to the point of requiring transplantation.”

“Scientifically speaking, _bien sûr?_ ” Lafayette isn’t even bothered but how taunting his remarks sound at this stage. He wishes, he really wishes, that this was the most ridiculous proposal he’d heard from Alexander on an unsolved case so far. But it’s _really_ not.

Alexander ignores him.

“It takes the government a while, given their current financial crisis and limited resources, but they track her down, export her back to Budapest for whatever form of nasty they have reserved for defecting agents, and then torture Laurens for information.” He frowns, “Now, John may look to all intents and purposes a sweet looking young man, but when it comes to his love for Margit, he is fierce beyond all reckoning. He has fire. It takes them hours, and their most extreme methods, to work out that he doesn’t know anything. And then they kill him.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, apparently satisfied with the logic of his argument. Lafayette tilts his head, curiosity getting the better of him.

“And what, may I ask, was the one clue that lead you down this excellent, irrefutable path of reasoning?”

Alexander grins, spreading his hands out in a beguiling shrug.

“Most Hungarians drink their coffee black. Laf- Lafayette wait!”

The Frenchman’s longer strides have taken him already halfway down the hallway by the time Alexander catches up to him, panting from his short unexpected run, but grinning madly.

“You, Alex, are the worst.” Lafayette says, as they come to a halt outside the next door.

“But you love me?” Alexander says it with an entirely convincing waggle of his eyebrows and sly smirk, his hand poised ready to knock over the wooden panel of the door. Lafayette has known him well enough, for long enough, to detect the smallest hint of doubt hidden in his words. He doesn’t have to lie as he responds.

“ _Mais oui, mon amour, toujours_.” That seems to satisfy his Alexander, whose smile slides from snarky to sweet with well practiced ease, before he turns back to some semblance of professionalism, and knocks on the door.

The woman who answers looks as if she’s walked directly off the set of a pleasantly dull situational comedy, in the role of the affable yet inconveniently racist grandmother. She smiles up at them cautiously, but doesn’t open the screen door.

“I’m sorry boys, I’m afraid I have no change to spare, but there’s a lovely police station not too far from here that might be able to help you out. Bless you both.”

She makes motions to close the door, but Lafayette speaks up before she can.

“Our apologies, Madame, for not introducing ourselves sooner.” She pauses, blinking up at them slowly. “We are Hamilton and Lafayette, NYPD, here asking a few questions for one of our cases.”

“You’re from France?” She replies, his accent apparently the only key feature of his sentence that stuck, but it will do. Lafayette gives her his most charming smile and utters a few meaningless phrases in greeting, while Alexander pulls out their much-exhausted photo of Dr John Laurens. He holds it up to the lady, who has pulled out a few rusty French greetings, to Lafayette’s delight.

“Oh! Yes, I know him.” Lafayette and Alexander swap delighted expressions, but she waves her hand, shaking her head, “Sorry, I’m exaggerating, I didn’t know him well, I don’t even know his name- but he would sometimes be in the elevator at the same time as me.” She pauses, musing over her memories. “He would press my button for the seventh floor before I asked him too, I think he was on the one above, so it wasn’t much of a reach for him, of course, but it was nice to think of me nonetheless.”

After determining that she has no further information to give them, they thank the lady profusely and hurry back to the elevator.

As the doors slide open, Alexander squeezes through as soon as he can, his hand flying to the button panel inside.

“Floor eight?” He ponders aloud, “Or, perhaps, the one above means the button literally above seven, which would be nine.” Lafayette nods his agreement, the button lights up under Alexander’s finger, and the doors silently slide closed. They are met with a reflection of their own, eager reflections. Even if there are still so many unanswered questions, there’s finally a limited direction to their search. The game is on. In the few seconds between the floors, Alexander is already bouncing impatiently on the balls of his feet, his patience living up to it’s inauspicious reputation.

Lafayette adjusts his curls slightly in the mirror image, neatening up the way they fall either side, grinning at his reflection once he’s satisfied. Just because the chase is on, does not mean he cannot afford to look his best. 

The number above the door displays a blue, illuminated nine and the metal panels slide open to reveal two rows of inexplicably ordinary looking doors lining yet another grey hallway. They step out onto the carpet, a curious striped pattern of alternating shades of murky brown, and make a beeline for the first door within their reach.

“Alex- wait.” Lafayette grabs his arm, directing him to the scuff marks standing out against the white wall. They’re about half a meter up from the ground, and the two men follow their path back from to where the elevator opened up and along until they’re about halfway down the hall, where the marks come to an abrupt stop just outside a door marked ninety four.

Without waiting for any further prompt, Alexander bangs his fist against the door.

“Open up!” He bellows, “This is the police!” He knocks again, harder.

There’s no response.

Elsewhere in the hallway, there’s the sound of other doors opening, faces sticking out to investigate the source of commotion, but they are steadily ignored. Lafayette places a hand on Alexander’s shoulder and pushes him aside. Alexander, for once, does not argue.

“If you are standing behind the door,” He calls out clearly and evenly, “I suggest you move now.”

He allows a moment to pass, before quickly counting under his breath-

“Et voilà, une, deux, _trois!”_

Flinging his shoulder against the door, Lafayette manages to break the wooden structure free from it’s hinges on the first go, barely catching himself before he falls into the entrance of the apartment with the door. It clatters noisily to the floor. The apartment inside is pitch black, curtains drawn. They draw their guns, stepping over what’s left of the door.

Lafayette pulls a torch from his pocket, and holds it carefully over the barrel of his gun. A quick, exchanged look with Alexander is enough for them to agree on a quick plan, and he steps forwards and to the left, following the hallway around to a kitchen, which appears empty. He quickly scans behind the counter, in the far corner.

“Clear in first room!” He calls out, and hears a similar response from Alexander. He presses on. 

This is what he's been waiting for. His heart is pounding in his ears but he can hear perfectly well, the press of his own feet against the soft carpet floor, the creak of Alexander opening a door from somewhere behind him. They are close, now. He can taste it.

The door to the second room he encounters is also jammed shut, but it obliges unwillingly to a rather forceful opening by means of his extended foot.  The room is even darker than the others, with no shuttered windows for sunlight to sneak around. From the narrow beam of yellow emanating from his torch, illuminating a desk, chair, wardrobe and bed, Lafayette figures he must be in the main bedroom.

And there’s something on the bed.

“ALEX!”

He doesn’t wait for a response.

Hurrying over to the bed, he tosses his gun and torch aside, the neglected light shining haphazardly up towards the ceiling. The form on the bed is human, but as soon as Lafayette has his hands on the upper edge of them, on what seems to be an arm, he withdraws instantly at the wet touch he encounters.

It’s blood. Fresh, wet blood. 

The light overhead flickers on as Alexander swings into the room.

“Laurens?” He asks, rushing to Lafayette’s side.

“ _Non_ ,” He replies, carefully rolling the man on the bed onto his back, using the back of his hand to wipe away a fraction of the blood that is covering his face, his neck. It’s enough for him to be certain that this is not the man they have been searching for. Wrong face, wrong build, wrong hair. “No, but he needs help. He’s not awake.”

But he’s warm.

Alexander pulls out his phone as Lafayette feels cautiously for a pulse along the length of his neck. It’s still there, stringy but constant.

“Ambulance.” He hears Alexander say behind him. His gaze wanders to the rest of the man’s bloodied form and clothing, the way his left arm is hanging awkwardly, the shallow intake of his ribs.

“Who are you?” He wonders, aloud. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Night shifts begin, my sanity ends. But the drama, oh, the drama just keeps coming! Who is this mysterious man? What does he add to their story? Find out next week! xx


End file.
